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1 LIST OF PERSONS COMPOSING THE KEATS CIRCLE.

James Rice, not living in December 1833.
Joseph Severn, born 1793, died 3 August 1879.
Charles Armitage Brown, died about 1842.
William Wordsworth, born 7 April 1770, died 23 April

1850. Percy Bysshe Shelley, born 4 August 1792, died 8 July

1822.

I should have been glad to add particulars of birth and death in regard to Richard Woodhouse, George Felton Mathew, Thomas Richards, and some others, concerning whom, up to the time of going to press, I have not learnt the required details.

INDEX OF FIRST LINES.

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A THING of beauty is a joy for ever : ...
After dark vapors have oppress'd our plains
Ah! ken ye what I met the day
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Ah! who can e'er forget so fair a being ?
Ah! woe is me! poor silver-wing !
All gentle folks who owe a grudge
And what is love? It is a doll dress'd up
Another sword! And what if I could seize ...
As from the darkening gloom a silver dove
As Hermes once took to his feathers light,
As late I rambled in the happy fields,
Asleep ! O sleep a little while, white pearl ! ...

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Bards of Passion and of Mirth,
Blue ! 'Tis the life of heaven,—the domain
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art-
Brother belov'd if health shall smile again,
Byron ! how sweetly sad thy melody!

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Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream,
Cat! who has[t] pass'd thy grand clima[c]teric,
Chief of organic numbers !
Come hither all sweet maidens soberly,

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Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel !
Fame, like a wayward girl, will still be coy ...

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Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave...
Four Seasons fill the measure of the year ;
Fresh morning gusts have blown away all fear
Full many a dreary hour have I past, ...

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Give me a golden pen, and let me lean
Give me your patience, sister, while I frame...
Glocester, no more.

I will behold that Boulogne :...
Glory and loveliness have pass'd away;
Go no further ; not a step more ; thou art
God of the golden bow, ...
Good Kosciusko, thy great name alone
Great spirits now on earth are sojourning ;
Grievously are we tantaliz’d, one and all —

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Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighs
Hadst thou liv'd in days of old,
Happy, happy glowing fire !
Happy is England ! I could be content
Hast thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem
Haydon ! forgive me that I cannot speak
He is to weet a melancholy carle :
Hearken, thou craggy ocean pyramid !
Hence Burgundy, Claret, and Port,
Here all the summer could I stay,
Highmindedness, a jealousy for good,
How fever'd is the man, who cannot look
How many bards gild the lapses of time !
Hush, hush! tread softly! hush, hush my dear !

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I cry your mercy-pity-love !-aye, love !
I had a dove and the sweet dove died ;
I stood tip-toe upon a little hill,
If by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd,
If shame can on a soldier's vein-swoll'n front
In a drear-nighted December,
In after-time, a sage of mickle lore
In midmost Ind, beside Hydaspes cool,
In the wide sea there lives a forlorn wretch, ...
In thy western halls of gold
It keeps eternal whisperings around ...

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Just at the self-same beat of Time's wide wings

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Keen, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there
King of the stormy sea !

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Life's sea hath been five times at its slow ebb, [foot

note]
Light feet, dark violet eyes, and parted hair ;
Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry ;
Love in a hut, with water and a crust,

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Many the wonders I this day have seen :
Mortal, that thou may'st understand aright,
Mother of Hermes ! and still youthful Maia !
Much have I travelld in the realms of gold, ...
Muse of my native land ! loftiest Muse !
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My spirit is too weak-mortality

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Nature withheld Cassandra in the skies,
No more advices, no more cautioning;
No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist...
No! those days are gone away
Now, Ludolph ! Now, Auranthe ! Daughter fair !
Now may we lift our bruised vizors up
Now Morning from her orient chamber came,
Not Aladdin magian
Nymph of the downward smile and sidelong glance,

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O Arethusa, peerless nymph! why fear
O blush not so ! O blush not so !
O Chatterton ! how very sad thy fate !
O come Georgiana ! the rose is full blown,
O for enough life to support me on
O Goddess ! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung
O golden tongued Romance, with serene lute !
O, my poor Boy ! my Son! my Son ! my Ludolph !
O soft embalmer of the still midnight,
O Solitude ! if I must with thee dwell,
O Sorrow,...
O sovereign power of love ! O grief ! O balm !
O that a week could be an age, and we
O that the earth were empty, as when Cain ...
O thou whose face hath felt the Winter's wind,
O Thou, whose mighty palace roof doth hang

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0! were I one of the Olympian twelve,
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, [foot-note]
Of late two dainties were before me plac'd
Oft have you seen a swan superbly frowning,
Oh ! how I love, on a fair summer's eve,
Oh, I am frighten'd with most hateful thoughts !
Oh! what a voice is silent. It was soft [foot-note)...
Old Meg she was a Gipsy,
One morn before me were three figures seen,
Over the Hill and over the Dale,

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Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes, ...
Physician Nature ! let my spirit blood !

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Read me a lesson, Muse, and speak it loud ...

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St. Agnes' Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was !

II Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

II Shed no tear-O shed no tear !

II Small, busy flames play through the fresh laid coals, I So, I am safe emerged from these broils !

II Son of the old moon-mountains African !

II Souls of Poets dead and gone, ...

II Spenser! a jealous honourer of thine,

II Spirit here that reignest !

II Standing aloof in giant ignorance,

II Stay, ruby-breasted warbler, stay,

See I Still very sick my Lord; but now I went

II Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong,

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The church bells toll a melancholy round,
The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone !
The Gothic looks solemn, [foot-note] ...
The poetry of earth is never dead :
The stranger lighted from his steed,
The sun, with his great eye,
The town, the churchyard, and the setting sun,
There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men
There is a charm in footing slow across a silent plain,
There was a naughty Boy,
Think not of it, sweet one, so ;-
This mortal body of a thousand days ...
This pleasant tale is like a little copse :

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